


Fingerspitzengefühl

by sweettasteofbitter



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Autistic Character, Background Relationships, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettasteofbitter/pseuds/sweettasteofbitter
Summary: Trevelyan has a special relationship with her hands.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	Fingerspitzengefühl

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna say I wrote this in twenty minutes but then I realized I hyperfocused on this fic for two hours. Case in point, your author is autistic and really wanted to get this fic out.

“Cassandra, do you have the map?” Trevelyan rubs her fingernails while looking at the other woman. The ridges around her nails, as small as they are, are mountains underneath her fingertips.

Cassandra unfolds the piece of parchment, and Trevelyan tries to look at the route over her shoulder, which is difficult because Cassandra is much taller than her.

“I do. We are bound northwards.”

Trevelyan nods.

“Right, I suggest looking for the missing scouts first, and then-”

“Shame we aren’t headed _South,_ ” Sera quips, and Trevelyan blinks, her track of thought coming to a screeching halt. The pattern of her hands becomes more erratic, and she rubs her right thumb into the palm of the opposite hand, a firm pressure. This usually happens whenever someone interrupts her carefully formed words, and it’s often Sera that does it, too. Strangely enough, Trevelyan isn’t too bothered by Sera’s interjections, because despite their massive differences, they are a kindred kind.

The Fereldan weather has not been exactly welcoming. An early drop of rain falls on Trevelyan’s left hand, a warning sign for more to come. She retracts her hand into her cape, the wool of it comforting against her skin. Her hands are her haven, and she doesn’t like wearing gloves for that reason; they are a barrier between her and her interpretation of the world.

_(The silk of Josephine’s blouse underneath her fingers, the subtle reliefs in her chain of office that climb to a peak in the shape of the ruby in the middle… no, not now. Focus.)_

Trevelyan takes a deep breath, trying to drag herself back into the present.

“And then…” Trevelyan blinks. What had she even been talking about? She looks at the map in Cassandra’s hands. “Right, the missing scouts. Locate them first, then look for traces of the Dragon. If we’re lucky, we might make it to camp before dusk.”

Around her, people nod. The plan is agreed upon.

Reluctantly, Trevelyan puts on her lambskin gloves. Even though she doesn’t like it, she needs to wear them to prevent the little piece of skin between her fingers from getting dry and cracked. Among other things: one other advantage is that her hands don’t get so wet and cold.

“All right then, people, let’s hit the road,” Trevelyan says, squatting down and pretending to punch the gravelly path. She winks at her companions.

Vivienne rewards her with a blank stare. Sera cackles.

A mixed success, then. One of these days she will make Vivienne crack a smile yet.

She brushes a careful hand along the manes of her horse Tori before mounting her, and she realizes she can’t wait to braid Tori’s hair once they are safe at home in Skyhold.

_(Her hands carding through Josephine’s hair, blessed to be allowed to braid these soft waves. Oh Maker’s breath, no, don’t compare Josephine to a horse!)_

Rain picks up as they travel down the rocky path, dripping off the mossy cliffs in the distance and making the boulders at the side of the road reflect the light of the moons. Trevelyan experiences an odd pang of loss as she watches a pebble fall down the hill, released from its boundaries after hundreds if not thousands of ages of pressure.

 _(The press of Josephine’s body weight on top of her, intimate and warm, but not carnal,_ never _carnal. Not with love. Those two things are entirely separate.)_

Trevelyan looks down at Tori and smiles to herself.

The world is too much, sometimes, the Breach an unnaturally bright wound in the tear of reality that is painful to look at, but Trevelyan still finds solace in the little things like this. She _needs_ to, if she desires for things not to overwhelm her. She cannot stop now, she has come so far, and she will continue.

She will persevere.


End file.
